


Living In Captivity

by DangerSlut



Category: The Collector Series (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Blow Jobs, Burning, Cutting, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Torture, puke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerSlut/pseuds/DangerSlut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Collector has plans for Arkin now that he has him trapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Arkin wakes up, he expects to still be in the red box; his knee crushed up against his chest and breathing hot, stale air. He doesn’t expect to be stretched out on his back, white light blinding him and unable to move. He doesn’t expect to be naked either, but he can feel the cold of the room and the metal table below him against his skin and terror starting to creep up his spine. After a moment, his eyes adjust to the light, so he looks around the room and his stomach drops.

The room, no, the torture chamber, that he is trapped in is large and clean, and would remind him if a hospital if it wasn’t for all the terrifying equipment that he couldn’t place a name or purpose for. Arkin began to struggle against his bonds, which were thick, padded leather straps across his thighs and chest along with cuffs on his ankles and wrists.

Struggling until he is exhausted, Arkin flops back against the metal table, panting heavily. He hadn’t even loosened his bonds, but at least he realized that he wasn’t completely naked, the madman allowing him to keep his boxer briefs on. He lays there listening, trying to prepare himself for whatever the masked man had planned for him, but a small part of him hopes that someone else will find him first. Maybe another victim and they could escape together, but preferably the police.

Too bad god seemed to hate him right now. The door creeks open and the masked man enters the room, his stride even more confident and imposing than usual as he pushes a trolley in front on him, its contents covered by a white cloth. He heads straight for Arkin, parking the trolley behind the bound man’s head and staring down at his victim, his eyes dragging over Arkin’s body.

“What are you go-” starts Arkin, only to be cut off when a leather clad hand come down over his mouth, finger digging deeply into his cheeks. The killer brings his other hand up to his own mouth, pressing his index finger to his lips and shushes Arkin, his eye glittering wickedly.

Arkin’s whole body quivers in terror, his hands balling up as he nods minutely in the killers grip. He had no idea what this man wanted from him, what would happen if he could actually keep quiet for him, but he knew that silence was important for the murderer. If he could play this game, he could survive… Or so he hoped.

The Collector squeezes Arkin’s face for emphasis before sliding his hand over his captive’s throat, then he turns back to the trolley. Arkin cranes his head back to see, gulping back a whimper when he sees the rubbing alcohol, thread and sewing needles on the trolley. He didn’t want this man to sew his mouth shut, or any other part of him, like he did to that woman. There were also cotton swabs and two needles full of some clear liquid on the trolley.

The Collector peels off his leather gloves, swapping them for latex ones, and then picks the rubbing alcohol and a cotton swab, soaking it and turning back to Arkin. The masked man starts to roughly dab at the cuts on Arkin’s cheeks, causing the wounded man to his and jerk his head away in confusion. He grunts as the Collector slaps him hard across the face then grabs him by the chin, turning his face up the ceiling.

The collector continues to clean Arkin’s wounds, sometimes dapping at them with the cotton, sometimes just pouring the rubbing alcohol on them. Eyeing Arkin wickedly, the Collector tilts the bottle over and pours cold, cleansing fluid over the bound man’s skinned hand, smiling when Arkin whimpers and thrashes in his bonds. When the sadist stops, Arkin glares up at him while panting heavily through grit teeth, which only causes the psycho’s smile to widen.

Setting the disinfectant down, the Collector picks up a threaded needle and turns his attention back to Arkin’s mutilated hand. Arkin can’t help but gasps the first time the needle pierces his hand, making him flinch and causing gurgling sound to bubble out of his throat as he fights not to scream. The Collector takes his sweet time as well, stopping after every stitch to look at Arkin’s face.

By the time the killer is done, Arkin his shaking and whimpering softly, struggling to keep quiet. The Collector sets the needle aside, then strokes his captives face with a bloody hand, making a soft sound of pleasure in the back of his throat. Then he grabs Arkin’s jaw and yanked it open, shoving two fingers inside to hold down the bound man’s tongue. Arkin gurgles, then chokes, trying to twist his head out of the sadist grip and doubles his efforts when he sees one of the needles heading towards his mouth. But intend of the sharp pick of a needle tip, cool, salty liquid was shot into the socket of his removed tooth. Salt water, the psycho was cleaning out is tooth socket. Arkin struggles to breathe around the waster filling his mouth, forcing himself to swallow it down.

When the needle and fingers leave his mouth, Arkin gasps and lets his head fall to the side; eyes squeezed shut and single sob escaping past his lips. He flinches as a latex covered hand strokes over his cheek, terrified for what the Collector will do next, remembering that the masked man had one more needle to go.

He didn’t have long to wait before he found out what was in the needle, because soon after the hand left his face, he felt a sting in the crook of his arm. Jerking in his bonds and his eyes snapping open, Arkin looks up at the Collector. “What is that? What are you giv-” Arkin’s voice dies in his throat and the liquid empties out of the needle and into his body. Everything dulls his thoughts, his pain, and his ability to fight back. He does even care that he is completely at the mercy of a murderer, his fear fading to the background.

The collector starts to undo the straps that trap him, but he didn’t care and did even think of try to escape. He grunts softly the huge man picks him up, carrying him bridal style and letting his head flop onto the leather clad shoulder of the masked man. The man carries him into a side room, which turned out to be a bathroom, which was just as clean and white as the torture chamber he was just in. 

He says nothing, doesn’t even try to struggle, when the murderer places him in a tub full of lukewarm water and strips off his boxer briefs. He can feel disgust ripple under the numbing effect of the drug as the Collector cups his balls and cock in a hand, seeming to inspect them. When Arkin’s captor has seen his fill, the leather clad man grabs a bar of soap and starts to scrub him down roughly, washing the sweat, dirt and blood from his skin and turning the bath water a rusty colour.

When he was washed clean, the Collector lifts him out of the tub, not bothering to dry him off and carries him back into the torture chamber. When he sees that his captor was taking him back to the red trunk, which had only been a few feet away from the table he had be strapped to the whole time, he found enough strength to fight the drugs and struggle in the murderer’s arms. The Collector squeezes Arkin, growling as his victim struggled against him weakly, then drops Arkin into the trunk.

All the air was forced out of his chest as he landed hard on his back, taking all the fight out of him for a moment, but a moment was all the Collector needed. He grabs Arkin’s ankles, folding his legs into the trunk before slamming it shut and leaving Arkin drugged, wet and trapped in the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are slowly starting to get worse and worse for poor Arkin.

Akrin is startled awake as he lurches forward, thrown out of the trunk as it is tipped violently over. He hits the concrete floor hard, chin bouncing off of it, causing him to see stars, and his palms skidding across the rough surface. Instinctively, he moves to push himself up to his hands and knees, adrenaline flooding his system, but booted foot plants itself between his shoulder blades and pushes him back down.

Squirming violently under the boot, Arkin is sure that this is it, and that at any moment the madman would beat in the back of his head, or shoot him, or something as equally as horrible. But instead of feeling the all consuming pain of a fatal wound, he hears the clinking of chains and then something hard and cold closes around his neck.

Bringing up his hands to claw at what could only be a collar, Arkin grunts in pain as the foot on his back pushes down harder, grinding into his spine, and the killer swats his fingers away. Then comes the sound of a padlock snapping shut, and Arkin knows he is trapped.

The foot leaves his back, making him groan in relief, but when he tries to push himself back up again, he finds that he cannot lift his head or shoulder up to higher than half way to kneeling on hands and knees. “The fuck!?” snarls Arkin, thrashing for a moment before looking around him. The room he was in is a barren, freezing hole of rough, stained concrete. Looking forward, he sees that the collar he is locked into is attached to a long, heavy chain and was connected to a pulley system on the ceiling a few feet in front of him. Directly in front of him, a large eye bolt was sticking out of the concrete floor and his chain had been fed through it; which was the cause of his severely restricted movement.

A new layer of fear drapes itself over Arkin, chilling him to his bones. Here he was, trapped arse up, face down and naked with a murderer… A possible rapist. Would this man take it that far? He had sure tried with that girl… Jill? Or was this just another way to humiliate and torture him?

His fears of rape a quickly dispelled though, as a wide but shallow bowl of grayish gruel is pushed in front of his face by his captor’s boot. Arkin’s stomach growls at the smell of food, but he ignores it. If this man wants him to eat without his hands, like a dog, well fuck him. So Arkin ignores the food, looking at the floor beside it instead.

His captor waits silently, but when it becomes obvious that Arkin is not going to do what is expected of him, the masked man walks over to the nude man’s right side and kicks him, the psycho’s steel toed boot knocking him over and forcing the air out of his lungs.

Wheezing, trying to fill his lungs again while ignoring the pain, Arkin remains on his side and looks pointedly away from the gruel, refusing to give in… That is, until the madman kicks him again, this time in the hip, dangerously close to his groin.

Crying out in pain, Arkin struggles to push himself back up on to his knees and forearms, twisting his neck so he could shoot a glare at the masked man, who smiled back at him, enjoying every moment of this.

Arkin goes to reach for the bowl, still refusing to eat like a dog, but before his fingers can even graze the edge of it, the killer stomps his booted foot down on Arkin’s wounded hand and grinds it into the floor.

Arkin screams, back arching, head thrown back in agony as he writhed on the floor. “Stop! Stop!” he yells, looking up at his tormentor. “I’ll eat it how you want, just stop!”

Eyes glimmering in sadistic glee, the Collector continues to grind his heel down on Arkin’s mangled hand, drinking in the man’s pain, then takes pity on him and steps off the damaged hand.

A sob of relief passes Arkin’s lip and he crawls forward until the gruel was right in front of him again, not wanting to give the murderer any more reason to hurt him. The combination of pain and humiliation of what he was about to do brings stinging tears to his eyes, but he forces them back with a few deep breathes.

Ducking his head down, Arkin struggles to get a mouthful of the vile slop. He’s not willing to lap at it, so instead he slurps and sucks it down, scooping as much as possible into his mouth with his tongue. The gruel was cold and the awful taste made him retch, almost bringing tears to his eyes again. The collar and chain keep getting in the way as well; the chain dragging through the mush and the collar kept slipping up his neck and bumping his jaw. Arkin hated the collar and chain; how they restrained his movement and are a constant reminder of fucked he is.

Hearing the creek of leather and feeling a hand on the back of his head, Arkin freezes, terrified that his captor was about to shove his face into the gruel and drown him in it. But instead of killing him, the killer starts to stroke the back of his head, as if he actually were a dog.

Shame floods through Arkin at the touch, at receiving praise for doing as he was told; for eating out of a bowl on the ground like a fucking animal… So like a coward, he continues to eat, not wanting to bring down anymore of this man’s wrath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get torture AND smut in this one!

Once Arkin had eaten most of the gruel, his captor stopped stroking the back of his head and twisted his gloved finger’s into the naked man’s hair, getting a good grip. The masked men guides Arkin’s head around the bowl, forcing him to lick it clean so that not a scrap was wasted.

When he was done, Arkin gets a pat on the back of the head as a reward, then his kidnapper stands up and walks over to the pulley system. Arkin watches with a mix of curiosity and dread as the killer starts to loosen the chain, giving collared man a surprising amount of slack. Arkin its up slowly, his eyes locked on the murderer just in case he is doing something wrong; that way he would see that attack coming instead of being taken off guard. The masked man smirks when Arkin find out that he only has enough chain to sit back on his heels, enjoying the wary look in his victim’s eyes and tense shoulders.

They stare at each other for a moment, the Collector eventually making the first move and striding confidently towards the collared man. Arkin flinches back a bit, but seeing as he had nowhere to go and he didn’t want to waste his energy fighting with a chain, he ends up sitting still with his hands resting in his lap. The Collector smiles at this, crouching down in front of Arkin, the bowl between them. The masked man’s hand dives into his pocket and Arkin’s fear rackets up, causing him to sweat and his chest to heave, as he wonders what the killer is getting. His fear turn to confusion when the psycho pulls a pack of smokes from his pocket; Arkin’s favorite brand of smokes to be exact.

Maybe they were a treat for when he was being good… Maybe this was what the Collector did to those he captured. Maybe he trained them into what he wanted with a mix of pain, humiliation, fear and rewards. Playing on humanities captor bonding instinct and hoping for Stockholm Syndrome…

Arkin watches as his captor pops the top of the pack of smokes with his thumb and taps one out. The Collector places it between his lips, his hand going back into his pocket to fish out a lighter and then lighted up the smoke. He takes a puff, blowing out smoke in Arkin’s face and then offers the cigarette to the nude man. Arkin stares at the cig blankly for a moment, wondering what the psycho’s motive for this was, but when the masked man growls soft and thrust the smoke towards Arkin again, he takes it.

The smoke was heaven on Arkin’s lips, the strong flavor filling his mouth and hash smoke flooding his lungs. He had no idea how long it had been since his last cigarette, but he must have been trapped in that box for days because by the time he was done, he was light headed. When the Collector glances down at the bowl between them, Arkin’s knows to snub the butt of the smoke in it and does so.

Then the masked man taps out another smoke, lights it, blows the smoke in Arkin’s face again and then hands it to the naked man. Arkin takes it hesitantly, looking at the murderous bastard suspiciously, but smokes it anyways.

When he is done, the murderer lights up a third cigarette and blows the smoke in Arkin’s face once again, causing him to cough this time. “No thank you,” says Arkin, flinching back and coughing again, expecting to get him for his refusal. But the Collector just smiles at him and takes another drag before lashing out as quick as a snake and grabbing Arkin’s left wrist. The masked man pulls Arkin’s arm straight out and turns it so the pale underside is facing up. Then he aims the glowing ember of the cigarette for the crook of Arkin’s elbow. “No! Stop! I’ll smoke i- AHHH! FUCK!” yells Arkin, struggling against the chain and his captor’s grip as the smoke burns a small circle into his arm and fizzles out. The Collector drops the butt into the bowl, smiling while his victim gages at the scent of his own burnt flesh, but does not let go of the nude man.

When the psycho gives Arkin another smoke, he takes it without hesitation. He has caught on to the games now; take what is given to him or be punished, and he refused to be burnt again, even if it make him sick. So when the Collector give him another smoke, then another, and another, he puffs them back determinedly.

When he finishes another 15 cigarettes, leaving him with seven to go, he doesn’t think he can smoke anymore. His head is pounding and foggy, his limbs felt like lead, and his stomach was rolling. “No more,” he breathes out roughly, his eyes falling shut and spit pooling in his mouth. “I can’t have anymore; I’ll be sick… Please don’t hurt me.”

The Collector ignores his plea though, pressing the next lit smoke to the inside of Arkin’s arm. The abused man whines and tries to pull away, tears threatening to spill over as drool drips out of his mouth and onto his knees. When the Collector holds out another lit smoke, Arkin shakes his head ‘no,’ and begs “Stop this. I can’t do it, plea-” but he is cut off as his captor burns him again. The mad man puts out three more smokes on the inside of Arkin’s arm before the collard man give in and takes the last two smokes.

He takes his time with them, eyes falling shut as he tries not to drool any more, swaying on the spot. All he wants to do is vomit, but he has no idea what will happen if he does or when he will get to eat again, so he fights it with all his might. But his body is stronger than his will, and half way through the last smoke, he starts to retch and drool uncontrollably. Suddenly his stomach lurches and he drops the smoke, his body shaking as he leans forward over the bowl. He feels a pulls from deep inside him, and then he is vomiting noisily into the bowl in front of him, filling it with partially digested gruel. He heaves several times, until there is nothing left in his stomach, not even bile, and he is left sweating, shaking and weak.

He feels a gloved hand cup his chin and tilt his face up, but he is too exhausted to even open his eyes, let alone fight. He lets himself be pulled up straight, feels the heat of the masked man standing right in front of him, and then sobs as he hears a zipper being pulled down. Arkin opens his eyes just in time to watch the killer pulls his erect cock out of through his fly; making him look away quickly, making him look up at his torturer. “A-anything but this… Please, I’ll do anything instead,” begs Arkin, tears finally falling down his cheeks. The Collector tilts his head to the side, for the first time considering what Arkin has to say, then smiles wickedly and points down at the bowl between his feet.

Arkin’s stomach threatens to expel whatever he has left when he thinks of the bowl, full of puke and cigarette butts, and he doesn’t even want to try and imagine what the murderer would make him do with it if he chose it over sucking cock.

Arkin shakes his head ‘no’ to the puke bowl, making the Collector smiles and strokes his hair; Apparently he made the right choice. Letting his eyes fall shut again, Arkin flinches when he feels the warm tip of his captor’s, no rapist, cock bush over his bottom lip. He opens his mouth slowly for the masked man, cringing as hot, thick flesh shoves it, and Arkin chokes as his captor forces deep into his throat. The killer grabs both side of his head, pounding away, balls slapping at Arkin’s chin, seeming not to care if his captive could breath or not. Arkin’s hands come up to push at leather clad thighs, trying to signal for the man to stop or at least go slow, but once again he is ignored. Eventually, he just ends up holding onto the Collector’s thighs, still gagging around the thick cock in his throat and stealing a breath when he can. When the masked man starts to cum, he pulls Arkin off his dick and cums over the nude man’s face, getting cum in Arkin’s right eye and hair.

Arkin sobs, bringing a hand up to try and rub the burning liquid from his eye, but before he even managed to touch his face, the masked man grabs his hand and forces it down into his lap. He weeps silently as his rapist undoes the chain from his collar and crawl along beside the towering man obediently as they head back to the box.

When he is locked back inside, Arkin lets out a shaky sigh and starts to rub at his eye. He never though he would be happy to be locked up in the trunk again, but right now it was the only thing between him and the Collector and he was thankful for it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arkin finally gets some proper loving >;)

Arkin is woken up by the sound of the trunk lid being opened and panic fills him instantly. He curls into a tight ball and watches warily, expecting the masked monster to reach in and drag him out at any moment. He’d fight with everything he had this time. There was no way he was going to allow that monster to use him again.

Nothing happens and Arkin cannot even hear his captor walking around behind the trunk, so his fear slowly fades and is replaced with curiosity.

It was a stupid thing to feel, especially since it was a part of what got him in this situation in the first place, along with his responsibility to protect his daughter. Arkin pushes the thought of his little girl away instantly. The freak had made him fail her and now who knows where she was or if she was safe.

Peering out of the trunk, Arkin doesn’t hear or see any sign of the Collector, nor is there anything laid out in front of the trunk to lure him out with. 

It’s impossible that the monster doesn’t have any plans to play with him, the burns on his arm a throbbing reminder of the day before, but Arkin can’t help but hope. He had been crammed in the red trunk for who knows how long now so his limbs were stiff and tired… Maybe his captor was giving him time to stretch and move a bit. Maybe he could finally use the bathroom on his own.

Deciding to test his luck, Arkin swallows heavily and then uncurls his aching limbs. After a moment of hesitancy, he crawls from the trunk, looking both ways before starting to stand up.

But just as he gets his feet under him, a large gloved hand hooks under the back of his collar and roughly forces him over onto his side. Arkin cries out when he hits the floor, pain lancing through his shoulder, but he doesn’t let it distract him.

Arkin is struggling instantly, thrash and kicking backwards in hopes to hurt his kidnapper and get away from whatever the monster had planned for him. He tries to crawl away as well, but before he can do anything, he hears the snap of a padlock and feels the heavy weight of the chain on his back.

“Fuck you!” yells Arkin, grabbing at the chain and gathering up as much slack as possible while the freak walks around him. He can see the smirk on the masked fucker’s face and he wants to rip it off. “You ass! I’ll fucking kill you!” Arkin shouts at him, baring his teeth when his kidnapper grabs the other end of the chain on the opposite side of the room. “Fuck you!”

The Collector grins as he starts to pull on the chain through the pulley, dragging Arkin closer and closer. Arkin digs his heels in, tries to pull the chain back, like they were playing some twisted version of tug of war, but there was no way he could contend with the other man’s strength. 

With a hard tug from the masked man, Arkin loses his balance and falls forward, tearing the scabs off his knees and palms. He struggles to get the chain back in his hands, ignoring the pain, but it was too late. The Collector was dragging him across the concrete floor, scraping away skin and choking him with the heavy collar.   
Arkin’s hands fly up to grab it, his fingers hooking underneath his chin so that he would have some room to breathe, but it wasn’t very much. He kicks and writhes wildly on the floor, to panicked to realize that he was now in the center of the room and that his captor was still pulling on the chain.

When Arkin’s upper body is pulled up, he makes a loud choking noise and then starts to stand up. The only chance he would have at air was if he stood up, and right now it didn’t matter if that is what the masked monster wanted from him or not. He needed to breathe.

Groaning, Arkin pushes himself up and gasps in a blessed lungful of air, but then the chain goes tight again, pulling him up to his tip toes. Arkin just manages the hook his fingers under the collar again, gasping in what little air he had access to and mentally cursing his captor.

When the Collector is finished tying off the chain and walks around to stand in front of Arkin, all the smaller man could do was glare. The Collector smiles at him, reaching out with one with one gloved hand and stroking it down Arkin’s ribs, which had become significantly more pronounced since the beginning of his stay in this hellhole. 

Arkin flinches away from the touch, grunting as he staggers to the side, only to have the collar pull tighter at his throat and completely cut off his air. He was being kept on a very short leash, and he grudgingly moves back, hissing in frustration.  
He didn’t want whatever the Collector had planned for him while he was trapped like this. That one touch was enough to hint Arkin off and the thought of this monster using his body to get off again made him want to puke.

The Collector draws his knife from his belt and holds it up so Arkin can see, his freakish, reflective eyes shining in the dim light. A shiver of fear travels up Arkin’s spine, leaving him quivering before the murderer. He wonders if this will be the last time he has to go through this, that maybe, if he is lucky, the masked man will just kill him and be done with it.

But Arkin isn’t so lucky, because instead of gutting him, the Collector drags the blade along one of his prominent ribs. The flesh splits easily and hot blood drips down his side, its scent polluting the air.

A garbled scream is pulled from Arkin as he’s cut, and he lashes out with a kick out of instinct. He misses, the Collector only having to take a step back, then loses his footing again. Arkin hangs there for a moment, eyes squeezed shut and gasping, then forces his legs straight again. 

The Collector makes a soft, proud noise when Arkin stands back up, stroking his thumb over the gash he just made before cutting an identical one on the other side of Arkin’s ribs.

Arkin cries out again, but he doesn’t struggle this time. It won’t help him to, so he stands straight on quivering legs, his feet already starting to cramp.

The Collector makes another pleased sound, a small smile curving up the corners of his lips and he reaches between Arkin’s legs and gently takes his cock in hand. He circles the head with his thumb, smearing Arkin’s blood over it before giving the limp flesh a firm stroke.

Arkin jerks at the monster’s touch, tears finally starting well up, but he is too afraid to try and twist out of his captor’s grip. The monster has a knife; what if he decided to cut it off as punishment?

“N-no,” chokes out Arkin, blushing as unwanted pleasure comes. “Don’t… Don’t make m-me. Please!”

The Collector’s shoulders bounce in silent laugher as he continues to stroke Arkin, the smaller man’s cock slowly starting to fill, then brings the knife up again. He brings the knife up to his lips and shushes Arkin before carefully cutting a matching wound under the first. While he cuts his toy, his fist tightening around Arkin’s cock and pumping it quickly.

Arkin moans in a mix of pain, pleasure and lack of oxygen; lightheaded and conflicted. He’s disgusted that he feels torn over what was happening, realizing that this is what his captor wants from him, but it had been so long since he had felt anything but pain and exhaustion. If the killer was trying to train him or humiliate him, he doesn’t know, but he thinks that maybe it would be okay to give in this one time…

Another line of pain, this time on the other side of his chest, pulls him from his thoughts. “Fuck!” he curses when the Collector twists his bloodied, gloved hand around the head of his cock, making Arkin’s hips buck forwards.

“Stop. Please,” Arkin begs, blinking back tears. He’s not sure if he is begging for the pain to stop or the pleasure, but he would be fine with either or both.

“Shh,” replies the masked monster softly, stepping in close. Arkin can feel the heat of the monster’s body, feel his breath on his face, but all he can do is whimper pathetically when he feels the tip of the monster’s knife dragging teasingly over his belly. It leaves a burning line in its wake, but Arkin can’t feel blood on his skin, which he is thankful for. He didn’t want to think about how much it would hurt to be gutted.

The Collector starts to cut small nicks into Arkin’s sides, small slivers of pain compared to the gashes on his ribs, but painful all the same. It makes Arkin gasp and writhe in his bonds, fucking deeper into his kidnappers hand without knowing. The Collector continues to make soft, encouraging sounds every time Arkin flinches under his blade or bucks into his hand, and Arkin wishes he would just shut up.

He doesn’t want to be used like this, somewhere between punching bag and whore, but he wants to cum and he tell himself that he only want to because it would make this stop.

It’s not long till Arkin is rocking back and forth, fucking the monster’s hand and doing all of the work himself. He can’t help it, the pleasure becoming more intense as he got used to pain. His face is red from being choked by the collar, his mouth hanging open and his eye glassy with desire. 

Suddenly, the Collector stops cutting him and puts his knife away after whipping the blood on Arkin’s chest. The masked man strokes his hand down Arkin’s back, massaging lightly at the small of it before groping his toy’s ass. The tenderness tips Arkin over the edge, shooting into the killer’s hand as tears finally spill over. He cries out in anguish more than pleasure, going limp and shuddering in shame.

The Collector tightens his arm around Arkin, taking all of the smaller man’s weight so that he doesn’t choke himself to death. Arkin would have loved to, but at the moment, all he has the strength to do is bury his face in the mad man’s chest and cry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arkin plans on surviving.

Once Arkin hears the masked man shut and lock the door to his room, Arkin relaxes inside the trunk. It felt good to finally be alone, to get a moment to breath and try to recuperate. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but he was too disgusted with himself to drift off to sleep.

His sides were still burning, covered in dozens of tiny scabbed over cuts that pulled every time he shifted, and he could still feel his captor's hands on him. The memory of the masked freak’s touch lingers stronger than the pain from his cuts, making him feel slimy and used. 

And his mouth tastes disgusting. When he had finally settled down and his captor gave the chain some slack, Arkin had been too emotionally wrecked and afraid to fight back. Arkin quickly found out that the other man had not been finished with him, and forced Arkin to kneel while he wiped the abused man’s own blood and cum on the back of his tongue. Arkin had choked and gagged around the thick, gloved fingers, trying to jerk his head away so he could spit out the mess, but his torturer wrapped a hand around his throat and choked him until he was still.

It was a display of dominance and control to show Arkin just what the masked man was capable of doing to him and Arkin was sure he wouldn’t forget anytime soon. He was sure he would taste himself for days on the back of his tongue and never be able to forget that a murderer had made him cum.

Shifting in the trunk, trying to find a more comfortable position, Arkin wonders what the hell he was going to have to do to survive this. Did he even want to survive this?

He was starting to get an idea of what his captor was trying to do: either train him into some kind of pain craving pet or break him down until he was no longer any fun to play with. Neither of those options was acceptable to Arkin.  
But as much as he hated it, of those two options, fucked up sex slave was what he was hoping for. Because maybe, if he plays along well enough, maybe the masked monster would relax around him a little and give Arkin the opportunity to escape. Or better yet, kill his captor and then escape.

God, would he love to kill that bastard! He’d rip off that freaks mask and torture him slowly. Arkin would make him pay for killing that family and destroying Arkin’s only hope at saving his own. It would feel so good to see the freaks face twist in agony, to force a scream out of him and then watch those eerie, reflective eyes to fall flat. 

Silently, within the comfort of his trunk, Arkin steels himself for what he’ll have to do to get the freak to trust him. As much as he wants to continue to fight, to make the monster work to hurt him, Arkin decides that he will become pliant and submissive.  
He’ll keep up the act of being that broken, needy thing that cried in the masked man’s arms. He’ll take the torture and rape the best he can, wait for his chance and hope that his captor doesn’t get bored and kill him.  
He can endure this, he tells himself, he can survive. 

Reaching around to claw at the cuts on his ribs, Arkin tries to force himself to become accustomed to pain quicker, repeating his mantra of survival over and over until sleep takes him.


End file.
